


In Loving Memory

by LittleWhiteTie



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Keith (Voltron) Whump, Nightmares, Sick Keith (Voltron), Sickfic, Supportive Lance (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-21 14:08:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18703873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleWhiteTie/pseuds/LittleWhiteTie
Summary: Fever dreams and cemeteries are never a good combination, especially for Keith, when the corpses behind glass look like clones. Thankfully, Lance is there to help him through it.Keith wakes with a strangled cry. He’s choking on air—too much, not enough.He can’t—can’tbreathe. He doesn’t know if he’s just gasping for air or full out sobbing, but the animal sounds tearing their way from his throat refuse to be suppressed.His skin is on fire; he’s being burned alive. The scar running from his jaw toward his eye throbs with remembered pain, and he claws at the wound with desperate, shaking hands.Something in the distance calls him—no,someone.A familiar voice guides him back with strings of soft words:Shh, Keith. You’re okay, you’re okay.





	In Loving Memory

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to Aurum for being my beta!!

“Just a little further,” Lance says. “We’re almost there. At least, according to Hunk’s geiger counter thing.”

Keith is too busy trying to stay upright to respond with words as he drags his feet across the jungle floor. Sweat drips from the bangs plastered to his forehead, stinging as it falls into his eyes. He’s _exhausted_. The nausea that’s been building since they got to this damn planet is reaching a point where it might make good on its threat soon.

Lance eyes him with concern. “Do you want to take another break?”

“No,” Keith says. “Let’s just hurry up and get this over with.”

The Xanorian jungle is creepy as hell. It’s far too quiet, especially considering all the movement in his peripheral vision. Vines creep and slither, ready to ensnare. Tree branches sway without wind; their cloud-shaped clusters of leaves should rustle but don’t. Flowering plants turn to face them, tracking their movements with invisible eyes as they get deeper and deeper in.

And yet Lance seems to think the place is perfectly lovely. It’s so calm and peaceful, he says. The plants are so pretty, he says. Nothing’s watching us, he says.

So either Keith is seeing things that aren’t there, or Lance is just oblivious. Really, it wouldn’t be the first time for either of those options, but given his climbing fever, Keith is willing to admit it’s probably the former.

Keith keeps his eyes on the ground, focused on keeping one foot in front of the other. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left…

“Hey, look,” Lance says, pointing through the trees. “There’s a clearing up ahead. That’s gotta be where the ygdranite is.”

“Mm,” Keith says, not looking up. He’ll take Lance’s word for it.

They get a little closer, and Keith almost runs smack into Lance when he comes to an abrupt halt.

Lance looks ahead, then down at the pinging geiger counter, then back ahead. “Uhhh, okay, so… we found the Xanorians…”

Keith steps out from behind Lance to get a better look. Ahead of them, the trees open up, replaced by rows and rows of glass coffins erected as far as the eye can see. A shudder rockets down Keith’s spine.

“Apparently, it's this way,” Lance says with a grimace, leading them forward into the graveyard.

The Xanorian corpses all around them are humanoid, each with dark hair and pale skin. They all look the same. _Exactly_ the same. This place, it's almost like… Keith pauses, gags.

Lance puts a hand on Keith’s shoulder. “Seriously, man. We can take a break,” he says. “The ygdranite can wait a few doboshes.”

“I just want to get out of here,” Keith says, past the point of trying to put up a front. Lance might not know exactly why this place is so horrifying—Keith hasn’t told anyone about the clone facility beyond its existence—but he’s well aware Keith has been on edge since they set foot on the soil.

“Fair enough,” Lance says. “Just let me know if you need to stop.”

They walk past row after row until a towering stone statue comes into view, a scaled up version of the bodies in the coffins. The geiger counter leads them right to the base of the statue.

“Coran said the stuff would be pink, right?” Lance asks.

“Yeah.” Keith’s head spins as he looks around them. The only pink around is a magenta stone embedded in the crown atop the statue’s head, glittering from the centre spoke.

“So I guess we’re, like, grave robbers now?” Lance says.

“Not like they’re getting much use out of it,” Keith says.

“True.” Lance looks up and down the statue. “I’m guessing you’re not feeling up to pulling your super ninja moves to go get that crown.”

Keith frowns. “My what?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Lance says. “I got this.”

Keith takes a seat and rests his back against the base of the colossal statue while Lance circles around, muttering to himself as he surveys it from different angles. Keith’s teeth chatter. He’s _freezing._ He hugs his knees in against his chest in a feeble attempt to warm himself, and closes his eyes.

He doesn't fall asleep, but he must get halfway there because he startles out of _something_ when Lance calls his name. His eyes snap open, and the sight of the rows of glass coffins hits him all over again. He struggles to fight back a wave of nausea.

“We’re good to go,” Lance says, waving the glittering, baseball sized gemstone in his face. He frowns as he takes a closer look at Keith. “You really don’t look good, man. We can see if someone can come get us. They might be able to land a bit closer than we did.”

Keith shakes his head. “They have other things to focus on. I’ll be fine.”

Lance purses his lips. “If you’re sure. Just let me know if you need to stop to rest.”

He helps Keith to his feet, and they head back the way they came, back through the rows of preserved corpses.

Lance prattles on about something or another—probably recounting how he managed to obtain the gemstone—but Keith’s too exhausted and distracted by their surroundings to actually focus on what he’s saying.

It’s slow going, and by the time they’re back in the thick of the jungle, Keith is barely standing. Lance ducks under Keith's arm to bear some of his weight. It helps, but only for so long.

“Lance,” Keith slurs, vision blurring past the point of recognition. “Think I… need a break…”

Lance starts to say something in return, but Keith passes out before he can make sense of the words.

... 

“Hello, Keith.”

Glass pods flicker and light up all around him. They cradle cold bodies, all wearing Shiro’s face. Unscarred, dark-haired, two-armed. They’re younger, softer than the Shiro standing before him, the one awaiting Keith’s arrival with a predatory gleam in violet-infested eyes.

Keith’s heart hammers in his chest; he’s been afraid of this moment for two years. Still, he tries to keep his voice steady. “Shiro, it’s gonna be okay.”

“Yes. I know.” Shiro’s voice is wrong, all wrong, sucked dry of any semblance of warmth or kindness.

“We just have to get back to the Castle.”

“We. Are not going. _Anywhere_ _!”_ Shiro snarls, charging forward. Keith barely has time to throw his shield up before he’s slammed into the wall, air knocked from his lungs.

Shiro doesn’t let up. There’s no holding back; he's aiming to kill. His attacks are relentless, lethal strikes that leave rubble in the wake of his fist.

Keith tries to get away, but Shiro comes after him. His Galra arm shifts and forms a pink plasma blade, extending his range. There’s no escaping. Keith has no choice but to fight back.

“I’m not leaving here without you,” Keith vows.

Shiro’s lips twist into something vicious. “Actually,” he says, “neither of us are leaving.”

Something overhead activates, and violet lights turn fuchsia. Shiro falls to his knees, crying out in pain as his Galra arm comes alive. It tears its way up his arm, metal and cracks of pink light devouring the flesh of his shoulder. The new monstrosity forms a laser cannon that obliterates everything in its range, breaking the facility to pieces. Massive chunks of the structure fall around them.

“Keith?” A panicked voice comes from somewhere behind him—Shiro’s voice, muffled by glass. “Keith!” an identical voice says, this time on his left. “Keith, please!” Another joins on his right. “Keith!” And another, and another. Hundreds of voices all around him converge in a desperate chorus.

Keith takes his eyes off the fight for a half-second to glance at one of the pods. The Shiro inside has his hands pressed to the glass, eyes wide. He’s alive, and _terrified._

“Keith, please, help!”

A laser blast fires, and on instinct, Keith dives out of the way. The blast hits the pods he was standing in front of instead. The clones inside scream as they’re incinerated.

“No!” Keith cries out. “Please, stop this,” he begs, but his words have no effect. Shiro raises his arm again.

Another blast. More screams. The Shiros around him are crying, pleading, _they don’t want to die,_ but there’s nothing Keith can do. He can’t protect them.

“Keith! Keith!”

Keith just barely manages to avoid the blasts head on. Shiros are killed, left, right, and centre, in his stead. Some are hit directly, some crash to the planet below as the structures supporting them are destroyed. Eventually, every single pod is decimated. “I’m sorry,” Keith gasps. “I’m so sorry.”

Shiro switches weapons, drawing his plasma blade once again. He circles in and lunges. Keith can barely move, but a burst of adrenaline at the very last second gives him enough strength to reach for his blade and parry.

“Shiro, please,” Keith begs. He’s in there. He has to be. “You’re my brother. I love you.”

Shiro’s eyes widen, and he falters for a fraction of a second, but it’s not enough. He pushes down harder, and Keith’s vision goes white as the plasma blade sears his cheek. The scent of burning flesh fills his nostrils, and the pain only gets worse. The blade’s about to melt straight through his face.

It’s hard to focus—everything hurts _so much—_ but he manages to summon the black bayard, forging a sword strong enough to cut through even the strongest of metals. Keith takes a desperate swing. It slices through metal—

—and flesh, and bone. Shiro lets out an agonized scream as blood gushes from where Keith has severed his arm. More pours out from between his ribs, where the sword’s trajectory continued deep into his side.

“Shiro!” Keith scrambles to his knees and presses his hands to Shiro’s gaping wounds in a futile attempt to stem the bleeding. That—that wasn’t supposed to—

“Keith,” Shiro whispers, resting his remaining hand over Keith’s. “You know that won’t do anything. You’ve already killed me.”

“No, just—just hold on—”

Shiro smiles. It’s a touch bitter, mostly sad. “I thought you loved me. But I guess when it comes down to it, you always put yourself first.”

“No, no, Shiro, I— _”_

“How many times are you going to let me die?” Shiro asks.

“I-I’ll get you out of here somehow. I’ll find a way to save you, I just—”

“Goodbye, Keith.”

“No, I can’t— Please, don’t leave me—”

The floor gives way. Keith reaches for Shiro, but his blood-slick hand slips out of his grasp.

“No!”

Shiro plummets toward the planet below. Keith dives after him, but he can’t catch up. Everything goes white as they enter the atmosphere and burn, and burn, and burn…

 ...

Keith wakes with a strangled cry. He’s choking on air—too much, not enough.

He can’t—can’t _breathe._ He doesn’t know if he’s just gasping for air or full out sobbing, but the animal sounds tearing their way from his throat refuse to be suppressed.

His skin is on fire; he’s being burned alive. The scar running from his jaw toward his eye throbs with remembered pain, and he claws at the wound with desperate, shaking hands.  

Something in the distance calls him—no, some _one_. A familiar voice guides him back with strings of soft words: _Shh, Keith. You’re okay, you’re okay._

Gentle hands pry his fingers away from his face— _let’s not make that worse_ —then slide beneath his shoulder blades to pull him up to sit. Dizziness rushes him, but the hands don’t let him fall. One hand holds his upper arm at the junction where pauldron meets rerebrace; the other snakes around his shoulders.

They stay there, just like that, until Keith comes down from his panic enough to form words. “L-Lance?” he rasps, between ragged breaths.

“Hey,” Lance says, tone gentle.

“Shiro,” Keith gasps. “Shiro, he’s… I-I couldn’t…”

“Shiro’s fine,” Lance soothes. “You were having a fever dream, but you’re awake now. Everything’s okay.”

“Just a… just a dream,” Keith says, shakily.

“Yeah,” Lance says. “Is your face okay? You were...” He makes a vague scratching gesture at his own face. “Does it hurt?”

“It’s—it’s fine now,” Keith whispers. “It just comes back sometimes when I… have dreams about…” He shudders, wrapping his arms around himself. Tears lick his cheeks, his scar.

Lance holds him tighter. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to tell me about it if you don’t want to. But if you do, I’m here to listen.”

“...Thanks,” Keith utters, voice hoarse.

When it becomes apparent Keith doesn’t have anything further to say—he appreciates the offer, but reliving it is the last thing he wants to do right now—Lance asks, “Hey, do you… want to talk to Shiro?”

Just his name sends a surge of fear through Keith’s veins, but _that wasn’t real._ _It was just a dream._ Keith shakes his head. “I-I’m fine.”

Lance’s face is a gentle mix of disbelief and pity before he rearranges it into a smile. “Maybe. But it might be nice to check in with him anyway, yeah?”

Keith grits his teeth. He can’t bother Shiro, not with _this_. Shiro’s busy, and Keith’s not a little kid anymore. “It was just a… just a dream.” A dream rooted in a very real memory, one branded into his cheek. A memory of a fight that could have ended very differently.

A surge of nausea hits Keith hard. He pushes Lance’s arm away from his shoulders as he leans over and retches.

Lance holds Keith steady as he vomits. The act leaves Keith panting for breath and shaking all over again, but Lance doesn’t let him collapse. He helps Keith back to a seated position, letting him lean against him, and runs a steady hand over his back.

It’s unusual, having someone here with Keith like this, comforting him when he feels downright awful. There’s only one person who had ever done anything like this for him before, back when he’d gotten sick at the Garrison. “Shiro,” Keith whispers.

“I’m gonna call him,” Lance says.

Keith snaps his head up. “N-no, don’t. He has more important things to worry about.”

“More important than you? I don’t think so,” Lance says.

“I—I’m fine. I’m _fine_.”

Lance tries a different tack. “I’ll just call to let him know where we’re at, alright? Update him on the mission.”

“...Okay,” Keith relents.

Lance flashes him a smile and opens up his wrist console. Soon enough, Shiro’s face appears on the screen. “Lance? What’s going on?”

There’s no trace of malice or pain or despair in Shiro’s voice. There’s no purple in his warm, grey eyes, no Galra arm crawling up his shoulder. He’s alive. Breathing. He’s okay, just like Lance had promised.

Keith lets out a choked sob in relief.

Shiro’s brows furrow in concern. “Keith?” Shiro’s eyes widen as Lance tilts his wrist to fit Keith in the frame. “Keith! What’s wrong?”

“You’re… you’re safe,” Keith breathes, forgetting to answer. Shiro’s safe, in both senses of the word. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Keith’s sick,” Lance explains. “He’s got a pretty high fever.”

“Keith, I...” Shiro pauses to shift the concern in his face to something gentler. “Yeah, I’m safe. You always make sure of that.”

“We got the ygdra-whatever,” Lance says, holding up the pink stone for Shiro to see. “Is anyone available to come get us?”

“I’m on my way,” Shiro says.

Keith shakes his head. “No, I’m—I’m okay. You don’t have to.”

“But I can, and I want to,” Shiro says, calmly.

“But…”

Lance turns to Keith. “Don’t you want to get out of here?”

“I… I don’t want to be a burden,” Keith says, quietly. Shiro’s gone out of his way to help him more than anyone should ever have to.

“You will _never_ be a burden, Keith,” Shiro says, with enough conviction it’s impossible not to believe him. The way he says it is so typical of him, so _Shiro_ , that it makes Keith’s heart swell with relief all over again. “Hang in there. I’ll be there soon, alright?”

“Thanks, Shiro,” Lance says. “See you in a bit.”

The video screen closes. Lance gives Keith a gentle nudge and a soft smile. “See? Shiro’s fine.”

“Yeah,” Keith says, quietly. He’s no less sick, but he does feel better. He presses his cheek to Lance’s shoulder. “Thanks, Lance.”

“Just rest up,” Lance says, bringing his head to rest against Keith’s crown. “I got you.”

“I know,” Keith murmurs, and lets himself fall back asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I write and draw things on [twitter](https://twitter.com/littlewhitetie) and [tumblr](https://littlewhitetie.tumblr.com). Come say hi!


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